Anzu James Naked in OrbitChapter 4 Monday Evening
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Anzu James: Naked In OrbitChapter 3: Monday, School free porn video
I expected my first official day in the Program to be interesting, scary, and weird. It was all of that and more. I'm going to tell you all about it, and about how some people can be wonderful, and others are demons from the foulest pit of Hell.
My alarm went off at seven. I had it set to an oldies station, since I was trying to think about what it was like to live way back in your day. So I awoke to some band called the Bare Naked Ladies. Appropriate, I thought. I took a shower, dried off, and wondered if I should shave my thatch. It was trimmed already (bikini, remember?), and I decided to just freshen the trim. I grabbed the first thing out of the closet and got dressed. After all, I was just going to take it off anyway.
When I got downstairs, my pancakes were waiting for me. Dad usually made them after eating his own breakfast. Sometimes I'd see him just before he left. Today he was already gone, and as I glanced at the clock, I realized that, in spite of dressing so fast, I was running a little behind. It was the shower. I'd let my mind wander to what was going to happen today after I got to school, and spent too much time deciding to trim instead of shave.
I ate in a hurry and left, riding my bike like I always do on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Today of all days I didn't dare be late. I didn't want anybody thinking that I was trying to get out of anything. I rode off in fine form, my slacks feeling a little tight. Well, I wouldn't have to worry about that for long. I waved to a few other people as we rode along. I guess I should mention that we only use cars for emergencies, and those are electric. The whole circumference here is little more than six Km, so it takes little time to get from one place to another.
It was a bright day, and there was no rain scheduled. Yes, we control our weather here. That would be almost impossible on a full-sized planet like Earth, but it's easy enough here. An I2 is big enough to generate some of its own weather, but small enough to keep it under control. The weather in the I3's is harder to control, and letting it be a bit unpredictable is considered part of the charm of living there. They can have it, I thought.
I glanced up, and saw a couple of fliers, almost at the axis. Remember how I mentioned that the higher you climb, the less you weigh? Well, when it gets down to sixteen percent or so, you can strap on wings and fly by flapping. I fly sometimes, but I'm more of a swimmer.
I got to Principal Takahashi's office just in time to see Neil Collins leaving. He was naked and already getting hard. So he was the one from his home room. I'd had him in General Arts last year. Several people were already assembled to see who this week's Program kids were. One girl whistled at Collins as I walked in.
"Good morning, Anzu," the principal greeted me, "How are you dealing with the idea of being in the Program?"
"Scared to death," I answered, taking off my shoes. "Where are my clothes kept until I need them again?"
He and two other faculty members watched as I started to unbutton my blouse. The principal was smiling slightly as he answered my question. "They are sent back to your home, and you can select any outfit you like Monday, as long as it fits within what's left of our dress code."
"Well," I said as I dropped my blouse into a basket marked CLOTHING: ANZU JAMES, "I won't have to worry about that for a while."
He had a couple of questions for me. "Did you read the pamphlet?"
"Yes."
"You understand that this isn't just for school, but everywhere, unless your parents decide you can dress at home?"
"Yes sir. I'm staying naked at home, at school, and anywhere else I go, except for an hour Thursday, when I've already committed to be in the vacuum."
"When was this commitment made?"
"Two weeks ago. It's for Space Manufacturing Applications. Mr. Glazer can confirm it."
By this time my slacks were off. I was blushing again; they couldn't see it but I could feel it. I started to tell myself that standing there in bra and panties wasn't any worse than my new bikini, but then thought, what's the point of that? I'm going to take it off anyway.
I reached for the clasp on my bra, and felt my knees get weak.
"Mr. Takahashi," I said, "I need to take a couple of deep breaths first."
"That's OK," he told me, "as long as you don't try to stall."
I took a long, slow breath. I remembered what I'd decided last night: that the Program was a good thing and that I needed to support it. I took another breath, and as I exhaled I whispered something so quietly that I knew they couldn't hear it: "You look like an angel."
"I'm ready," I said, my voice firm, and I reached behind me and undid my bra. I took it right off, and didn't turn my back or try to cover. I dropped it in the basket and went right for the panties. A part of my mind was screaming "NO! You can't do this!!" But I did. Panties in the basket, hands to my side.
"Very nice," Mr. Takahashi commented. "Now please turn once around slowly."
That caught me off guard. I didn't expect to have to display until at least first hour. But I did it. I even held my arms out to the side a bit.
"Thank you, Anzu," the principal told me, "Here's your towel. Remember, this is to sit on, not to cover with."
"I understand," I told him as I took the towel. Didn't he hear me say "yes" when asked if I'd read the pamphlet? The only thing I wasn't sure about was how to carry it. Slung over my shoulder would maybe cover too much. Held in my hand might drag the ground. I tried to remember how I'd seen other Program kids carry their towels, and realized that I'd always been so busy looking at the naked bodies that I hadn't really noticed the towels. After a little thought, I folded it double, and then held it in the middle of that, so that it hung down quartered. It wasn't a very big towel, and neither covered nor threatened to drag the floor.
"Do your best to enjoy this Program week," he said, and opened the door for me.
I turned around to leave, and yelped. There were at least a dozen guys standing there waiting for me. I nearly dropped the towel as I hunched over and my arms crossed over my bust.
"Hey, it's Anzu!" I heard a voice shout.
"Anzu James, the midfielder," another cried.
"Nice shape, Anzu," came from somebody I didn't remember ever seeing before.
There was some more of that, but I remembered the rules and stood up, uncovering. I twirled for them once, and headed for Homeroom. Botilda was already there. Wow, is she pretty. Just a little shorter than me, and a touch more slender. She has these HUGE eyes and silky black hair almost to her waist. Cute little nose, rich lips, delicate features. Full-blooded Chinese with a name like "Botilda," which is Norse. But hey, if an Afrin like me can have a Japanese name, then an Orin like her can have a Norse name. As soon as she saw me she started in.
"Oh my God Anzu I can't believe this it must be awful for you I know I'd just die what are you gonna do about spoccer can you get out of it somehow and veegeewushu oh my God the weekend we don't have to go to"
"Breathe, Botilda, breathe!" I interrupted her. She just stood there panting.
"OK," I started, "No, I can't get out of anything. I have to do all the normal things; I can only wear protective gear when it's needed, and you know spoccer doesn't have much in the way of protective gear anyway. And besides, the Program is something I want to support. And yes, we should still go to the con."
"You WANT to do this!?!" Poor Botilda seemed more freaked out by this than I was, and I felt sorry for her when it was her turn. And odds are it will be, eventually.
"No, 'Tilda, I don't want to," I assured her. "I keep having to tell my hands to behave. They want to cover me up. I catch myself hunching over, trying to hide. I..." I leaned forward to whisper, "I dread the first time some boy asks me to spread my legs so he can get a better look." Indeed, I started trembling from just whispering it.
She started to hug me, but then backed off, knowing it would only be more embarrassing. She did stay close enough to whisper.
"Stand strong, F.L. All your parts are pretty; you don't have anything to be ashamed of. Embarrassed, but not ashamed. I should know."
You remember when I said that it would be too weird if my mom called me Feminine Love? Well Botilda had called me that last year, and it was too weird coming from her, too. So she started calling me Feminine Love every chance she got, just to tease me with it. When I got used to that, it wasn't fun anymore, but she did still call me F.L. sometimes, and I didn't mind.
Oh, what about "I should know?" We had veegeewushu together; we'd changed together a lot. Also, we had sleepovers, and wouldn't bother being shy around each other when we tried on clothes. About the time the whole Feminine Love thing started was when we started experimenting. Both of us virgins, we decided it was reasonable to practice on each other until we started with boys. I'm not really gay, or even bi, and I don't think she is, but, well ... We're sort of "lesbians of convenience."
We had to take our seats then, and Ms. Dunlavy called me to the front of the class. I was expecting this. The pamphlet said that teachers could make use of Program kids in class, and almost every week, Ms. Dunlavy had. I took the roll, as the others had. I was given a seat at the front of the class, where I could be visible to everybody. And, of course, Ms. Dunlavy asked that most embarrassing of questions.
"Do you need relief, Anzu?"
"No thanks," I replied. "I'm more freaked out than turned on."
Oh, wait. You guys wouldn't know about relief. When the Program first started, it was discovered that some naked boys would be sexually aroused all day. This was pretty obvious, the boys being naked and all. Without a chance for orgasm, they would experience vasocongestion, or what is commonly known as blue balls. The best cure for blue balls of course is orgasm, so boys were given a chance to have one. Specifically, they could ask for "relief," which is permission to masturbate. However, it had to be done in front of the class. If he needed relief but didn't want to do it himself, he could ask for volunteers. If nobody volunteered, he did it himself or did without. Finally, somebody noticed that girls get vasocongestion too, so now both sexes are asked, at the beginning of each class, "Do you need relief?"
I was determined that I would let my ovaries explode before I would jill myself in class, or ask somebody else to do it. Being naked was bad enough.
Homeroom only lasts half an hour, and there isn't any real "school work" involved. Mostly we just visit. This is the only time where "talking in class" in encouraged, in hopes of creating a feeling of community. It seems to work. If any of us had special instructions from parents, teachers, or Principal Takahashi, this is where we'd get them. I had to read a notice that told me all the things that had already been covered in mail, in the pamphlet, and in the principal's office. God, people; I've taken off my clothes, not my brain. Still, it distracted me from all the eyes on me, a little. It was still the longest thirty minutes of my life ... so far.
The bell went off and we spilled into the hall. Those who had classes on the other end of the building, like Devon, didn't linger, while those with only a short walk remained. Botilda was one of these, while Bret was another. Bret had been in the Program two months back, and I had really embarrassed him. It was my fault, and I'd apologized, but he still held a grudge. I was expecting him to get back at me now, and he didn't disappoint me.
"Hey Anzu," he called as soon as we were in the hall, "would you jump up and down?"
Was that the best he could do? Well, I couldn't deny that it was reasonable, so I jumped several times. My boobies bounced. Big deal.
"Nice," commented Mike, "but can you shimmy them like Desdemona does in all her videos?"
Yes, I could do that. I'd been planning to at the next dance anyway. Of course, I wasn't going to be naked...
It was embarrassing, of course. I never let anybody see my tits, except the girls I changed with, and here I was, not just letting boys look, but bouncing them around. But that's the Program, and even though I could feel myself blushing again, it wasn't as bad as I thought it might be.
"That's nice," Bret smiled, "but I wonder if I could get a look between your legs?"
My face fell, and I hate that it did, because I didn't want to give Bret the satisfaction. I felt the blush deepen, and my heart began to beat like I'd jogged the circumference. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later. Boys like pussy, and I wouldn't expect them to forego a chance to see mine. His smirk made me want to smack him, but instead I sat with my back to the wall and bent both knees, spreading wide. Several guys and a few girls very pointedly stared, and Bret actually got down on the floor to put his head between my knees. I could feel his breath on my lips. He started making sniffing noises.
"Nice," he said, "Do I smell apricots? What brand of soap do you use?"
I forced a smile. Sure, I wanted to grab his head and bang it on the floor (tile over concrete, woohoo!), but I didn't. I was very careful with my voice.
"It's Skyways Soap All-Naturals, apricot scent," I chirped. "You know what they say: 'Skyways Soap, As Pure As the Sky Itself!' The All-Naturals collection seemed right for Anzu Au-Natural."
He stood back up, and so did I. He looked almost disappointed. He'd wanted me to cry, to beg, to refuse. I felt ... I'd never been this embarrassed in my life. Embarrassed, but not humiliated. It's hard to explain. Bret had created a game and insisted I play. The Program set the rules and he set the terms of victory. But I'd won. I didn't feel helpless and humiliated, but downright victorious.
The warning bell rang, and I was off to English III, with Mr. Scott of "why don't you write a journal" fame. I got a few Reasonable Requests, and I accepted those that didn't threaten to make me late for class. More hopping and Desdemona shimmy. I didn't wait to be called to the front of the class; the chair was already there. I lay down my towel, sat on it, and faced the class.
"Good morning, class," Mr. Scott started. "Anzu, do you need relief?"
"Relief from having my term paper subject chosen for me," I felt like saying, but didn't. I just smiled and said, "No thanks. I'm fine."
Truth was, I did feel kind of turned on. All that attention does get to a girl, and you can't walk around school naked, with everybody else clothed and staring at you, and not think about sex. But my balls, if I'd had any, weren't in any danger of turning blue. It was just a little arousal, no more than when I was tutoring Steve.
The class went pretty normal. There was stuff about burying leads, about how to deal with non-English words in English papers, and about writing papers intended to be translated to another language. I was on display the whole time, but Mr. Scott didn't "make use" of me.
When the class ended, I decided to hang behind. I really needed to deal with this term paper issue. As the other students shuffled out, I just stood next to Mr. Scott's desk.
"Help you with something, Anzu?" he asked, "Or do you just want to make sure I get a good look?"
Cute, but I wasn't in a mood to kid around. "It's this whole journal-as-term-paper thing. I'd already picked a subject. Everybody else gets to pick their own subjects. Why is mine chosen for me?"
He looked a bit puzzled. "I could have sworn that the mail I sent said that you could use your journal as your term paper, not that you had to."
I blinked at him.
"I am insisting that you write the journal," he continued, "like I do with all Program participants. But whether or not you use it as your term paper is entirely up to you."
"You know," I told him, "I think your mail did say 'you can use, ' not 'you must use.' Thanks. This was really bugging me."
He smiled. "If you don't want to use your journal for your term paper, you can turn it in as extra-credit work."
"That's cool," I said, "I have no problem with that at all."
Mr. Scott might also want to stick "if you wish" in there next time, just to avoid confusion. But I was pretty happy as I stepped out into the hall...
... and into the gauntlet. Interesting thing was, I wasn't the immediate center of attention. Jeness was there, and she was naked. I should point out that Jeness and I hate each other's guts. It started last year, over a boy who didn't actually want either one of us. I was over it. Jeness wasn't. She still thinks that if it hadn't been for me ... No, I don't think it's even about the boy anymore. I think she just hates me because she hates me.
I hate her because she's always trying to make my life hell. She's made me late to class a few times, and she's tricked me into looking like an idiot a few times. Sometimes her tricks fail, and she ends up looking stupid instead of me. Yes, I retaliate, but it's always on the spot. I don't sit at home plotting stuff. She does. I think I do pretty well for myself, considering this. I guess we're pretty even in this feud.
"Jeness," I heard a boy call, "could you show us all three places a cock could fit?"
"Sure thing," she laughed, and turning her back to the boy, she planted her feet wide and bent over until she was looking at him upside-down. "Here's one," she said, pointing to her mouth, "here's another," she slid her finger along her pussy, "and of course here," and she actually tapped her ass hole. "A nice, juicy, meaty cock could slide into any of these ... Anzu!"
I turned to leave, but the way was blocked by all the guys looking at Jeness. The girl had no modesty. Lucky her. I, on the other hand, had far too much. Too much for a Program kid.
"Anzu, dear," she purred, "why don't you show all these nice boys your three holes?"
There was a lot of agreement with that idea. I knew it was something that would be considered a Reasonable Request, and besides, I couldn't let Jeness be braver than I was. I tried not to shake as I walked to stand next to her. Planting my feet wide, I bent over as she had done. The butterflies that had been in my stomach all day transformed into June bugs, and I bit my lower lip, afraid that I might sniffle. I knew they could see my pussy, at least as well as Bret had. They could see my ass hole too, and somehow that was worse.
"That's nice, Anzu," Jeness laughed, "Could you point the openings out to us, like I did?"
Bitch!
I lifted one hand, and then had to put it back on the floor to steady myself. My sense of balance was suddenly screwed. I was blushing so hard that I could feel it all the way to my tits, which I suddenly realized were still visible. This bothered me for some reason. I took a deep breath, and lifted my right hand to point at my mouth.
"Here ... here's one," I started, pointing to my face. I lifted my hand further. It seemed to be made of lead, and it kept drifting to the side, and that wasn't Coriolis. "H ... here's an ... another," I tried not to sob as I touched my pussy as briefly as possible. "And ... and here's..." I stabbed at my anus with my index finger, almost penetrating myself. "And here's the third!"
I stood back up to see Jeness grinning at me, her eyes sparkling like a child on Christmas morning.
"Anzu, my dear friend, do you think you could..."
But I never found out what else she had planned, because the warning bell rang, and I had my excuse to get out of there. How can I hold my own with a girl who just doesn't care about being seen naked? I racked my brain as I walked into Music, and could only think of one thing.
Jeness has a strong aversion to anything lesbian. I don't mean that she wants to discriminate in hiring or something like that. By your day this sort of thing was quickly being dealt with. Wasn't it? I mean it just grossed her out. I remembered her talking about seeing two girls kissing after band practice, and how it made her sick to her stomach. Perhaps the next time she asked me to display myself, I could wink at her and invite her to take an extra close look herself. Maybe that would make tormenting me less fun.
Music was rather uneventful. Ms. Miller asked if I needed relief, and I said no. She had me demonstrate several drum strokes in front of the class, and had me play one of the rhythms I'd learned last week. The rest of the class was exactly like it always is, except that I was in front of the class instead of second row from the back. Even when class let out, and I had to go back into the hall, things weren't that bad. I mean, the shimmying and hopping and turning around were all terribly embarrassing, but nothing like what Jeness or even Bret had done to me. It wasn't until the warning bell rang and I was walking to Biology that my heart skipped a beat.
Biology. Mr. Carter. Oh God, I had to face the Warlord while in the Program!
OK, a little background on Mr. Carter, and on why we called him the Warlord, and on why I was now terrified. Mr. Carter's first name is John, and he was born on Mars. So he's "John Carter from Mars" or, if you like, "John Carter OF Mars." Not a big deal, in itself. Plenty of people have been born on Mars. Nearly a hundred thousand people live on that planet, and several times that many in orbit about it. However...
Just two years ago, a movie opened which was based on a series of books written in the very early Twentieth Century. This movie was called A Princess of Mars and the hero was a swashbuckling Earthman named John Carter. I can't believe it took from 1911 to 2106 to make this book into a movie, but it did. The movie has had two sequels so far, and in the most recent one, John Carter gains the title Warlord of Mars. So naturally we all started calling Mr. Carter "John Carter of Mars" or "the Warlord." Now the John Carter in the movie is athletic, handsome, romantic and oh so very noble (most of the girls at O'Neill had a crush on the actor, or the character, or both). Our John Carter is none of that. This of course only made it all the funnier to call him the Warlord.
The reason the Warlord scared me was that he seemed to delight in making use of Program kids. We'd had two so far this year. In the first month of school, a girl had been required to stand in front of the class and bend her knee, swivel her hips, flex her biceps, and turn slowly around. Then she had to do it again behind an AR screen. This screen is transparent, but it can superimpose images over the things seen through it. So as she bent and swiveled and flexed and turned, we saw her in all her naked glory, but we also saw a human skeleton match every move. Then the Warlord had her do it again, this time showing the muscles, and again for the nervous system. She was asked a second time if she needed relief, with the screen going. She was wise enough to decline.
Last month we had a boy. He was not only required to stand behind the screen, but had to explain, in detail, exactly how erection and ejaculation worked. HE had to explain it, not Mr. Carter. The screen didn't allow him even the privacy of his bare skin, but showed the rushing blood and surging seminal fluid as if we all had X-ray vision. The boy didn't cum in class, but the screen showed us contracting muscles and spurting ejaculatory fluid anyway. I started trembling again as I wondered what the Warlord of Mars had in store for me.
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